


Can you hear me now?

by aerobesk



Series: Psycho Simmons [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerobesk/pseuds/aerobesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons has more troubles than most of them realize, and he snaps. (Psycho!Simmons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Grif heard the whirring noise halfway down the hallway. He slapped a hand over his mouth, willing his breathing to be silent in the chilled locker room, not wanting his breaths to echo over the empty walls. The footsteps were getting louder, and Grif almost let out a sob when he heard them stop right outside the open door.

He didn’t want to peek past the curtain, and he didn’t even have to as he heard an almost hysterical chuckle coming from the door’s direction.

“Oh, Grif!” Simmons’ usually relatively soft voice was laced with amusement and joy, along with the underlying tone of greed and malice. The singsong tone of the words made Grif shudder, pressing his back even farther into the wall of the shower stall he was hiding in.

“Come on out Grif. I know you’re in here. Donut watched you come this way from the kitchen, and this is the only room in this hall. Don’t be stupid like Donut, Grif. You’re the one I want to keep alive anyway.”

Grif felt his eyes widen. He had heard screaming not too long before, but had desperately hoped that it was simply his imagination. The words that were falling from Simmons’ mouth were quickly disproving that theory.

“He died shivering in the heat Grif.” What did that mean? “Don’t go like him. Don’t go out sobbing like a child. You’re stronger than that. You’re better than someone who would die in the last shower stall in the locker room while hiding from his friend.”

Grif shivered, his breathing becoming even more ragged behind his hand than before. He watched a pair of maroon boots appear under the curtain.

“Oh, Grif!”

The orange soldier squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out the corners as he tried not to look at the empty grin that was most likely gracing his old friend’s face as the other soldier pulled the curtain back at a dreadfully slow pace. The clicking and whirring of gears was louder than ever before.

“I found you!”


	2. Chapter 2

For something like this, you’re expecting to hear something like “The day started off relatively normal.” Only it didn’t.

Donut was awoken to the sound of a scream. It wasn’t like his screams when he saw a spider, or Simmons when he saw Grif’s room, or Grif’s when there was a tank coming at him.

This scream was drawn out, punctuated with pain, and accompanied by the sound of a shotgun going off once, twice. The screaming stopped, and an oppressive silence made Donut feel like he had a blanket over his head.

He stood, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he opened his door. He walked into the hallway, turning to the left and walking away.

The screaming had been Sarge. If the voice hadn’t been enough, the shotgun firing would have been enough for him to know. He hurried down the hallway, stopping at the first door he reached. Simmons’ room.

However, the maroon soldier wasn’t there, so Donut quickly moved on to his next best option. If Simmons was gone and Sarge was in trouble, his next best bet would be to see Grif.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected when he had arrived at Grif’s room. Maybe for the room to be empty as well. Maybe for Grif to still be asleep. What he hadn’t expected was to be pulled in as soon as he reached the door, struggling to get the hand off of his mouth as the orange soldier pulled him into the room and locked the door, a pistol lying on the floor next to him.

He let go of Donut’s mouth, watching the pink soldier rub his mouth.

“What was that?”

“Sarge is in trouble.”

Donut nodded.

“I heard it too.”

“I keep my door locked at night. I woke up half an hour ago to the handle moving. I stayed quiet, listened. It was Simmons. I heard his voice and his gears clicking as he was walking away.”

The orange soldier let a shudder run through his body.

“I heard him. ‘I’ll save him for later then.’ Didn’t know what it meant. Was getting ready to go check on you when I heard Sarge. I knew you’d be up, so I waited.”

“How did you know I’d be up?”

Grif stared at him. “Donut, you wake up and complain when I walk past your room to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Why the hell would I think you would be asleep through gunshots and screaming?”

Grif loaded his pistol into his belt, slowly unlocking the door and cursing the fact that they left their armor in the garage overnight as he checked both ways down the hall. They moved relatively silently towards the main room, stopping when they didn’t hear anything.

“Maybe we should split up?”

Donut stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you kidding? That’s how people always get killed in the movies!”

Grif rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on Donut. This isn’t a murder movie, alright? And if it makes you feel better,” he stopped and pulled the second pistol out of his belt. “You can take this. And I promise I’ll be within screaming distance. Ok?”

Donut reluctantly agreed, watching Grif go off down the hall towards the gym and locker room. He turned when the orange soldier was out of sight, making his way in the opposite direction, heading towards the kitchen.

The pink soldier entered the room and gasped allowed. He stumbled to the side, grabbing onto a chair for support before quickly retracting his hands, almost retching at the sight of the liquid substance coating his fingers.

Simmons had obviously been there, and Donut’s unspoken question of where Lopez was had just been answered. The robot had been dismantled, parts of him spread over the kitchen. The counter and table were drenched in oil, several large pitchers of the stuff sitting on the counter. An arm was sticking out of the sink, the wires that would have connected it to a torso frayed and twisted at the ends, and the hand shoved into the grinder that, if the slight whirring noise and rouge sparks coming from it were any indication, had been left on until the metal pieces had broken it. There was a leg hanging at an awkward angle from the inside of a cupboard, and the poor robot’s head had been clean out, the helmet turned upside down and holding it’s own fair share of oil and metal pieces, almost like a grotesque punch bowl.

Donut was about ready to start crying, looking around at the remains of his teammate, (he had found the other arm dangling from where the hand had been shoved into the light socket hanging from the ceiling) when he heard the clicking, whirring noise, accompanied by footsteps. The exact sound that Grif had described when Simmons had been walking away from his room. Only this time, it was getting louder.

Donut moved with surprising speed, taking cover around the corner that lead into the other hallway that had the storage closets and breaker room. He held his breath as he heard Simmons enter the kitchen, heard the maroon soldier chuckle. He chanced a glance, seeing his teammate looking at the handprint on the chair that Donut had left.

“Well, well, well. Someone’s been in here.”

Donut ducked back around the corner, standing as quietly as he could, knowing that he’d have to run as soon as he heard footsteps.

“And they didn’t make it much farther.”

Donut jumped, not having heard the cyborg move stealthily into the doorway. The pink soldier turned and sprinted, glancing back once to see Simmons standing no farther than a foot away from where Donut had been “hidden,” his armor on all except for the helmet.

Donut ran faster than he had in his life, managing to make it to the main room and into the hall leading to Sarge’s quarters and the garage without tripping over anything. He ran into the garage, his breathing heavy as he crouched behind the crates of spare parts they had in the corner.

He had almost gotten his breathing manageable by the time he heard Simmons walking down the hallway. He heard the chuckle that echoed through the room as the cyborg stopped in the doorway.

“Come now Donut. Are you really going to die like this, hiding in the corner like a child?”


	3. Chapter 3

Donut didn’t move and tried not to make a sound as he listened for anything, any sign of movement from the figure in the doorway. He heard Simmons sigh and move, picking up something that… sloshed?

Just then Donut saw something splatter next to him, and looked over to see a drop of blood landing in a small pool of it that he hadn’t noticed when he had crouched there. He looked up, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming.

Sarge was hanging by his feet, suspended almost 6 feet off the ground by the chain of the warthog. The chain itself was wrapped several times around his ankles, and the hook was given the slack to be where it was; shoved forcefully through the red sergeant’s chest. His arms were wrapped at the wrists in the chains as well, and his shotgun was placed in between his hands like someone would place a teacup into a doll’s stiff, porcelain fingers. The surprised look on the old man’s face almost made it look like he could be alive, except for the drops of blood falling from his mouth every few seconds.

Donut had to look away from the morbid image of Sarge, focusing on the ground and trying not to throw up for the second time that hour when he heard Simmons start talking again.

“You’re being almost more stubborn than Sarge, Donut. And that old man tried to shoot me. Humph. Look where it got him.”

He heard Simmons walking, the liquid in whatever it was he was carrying still sloshing as he moved. The maroon soldier stopped.

“He never liked me. Never treated me well. Like someone worth while.”

Donut heard a shot, squeezing his eyes tighter as he heard the chains suspending his superior rattle as the body was pushed and shaken by the force of the bullet.

“One less thing I have to worry about.”

Donut heard Simmons moving the containers again, this time hearing the cap open and the liquid spill out, splashing over the ground behind him. It took his muddled brain almost a minute to register what the smell was. Gasoline.

The pink soldier’s eyes widened. Gasoline. Simmons was pouring gasoline on the floor of the garage. Why? Why would he do that? Donut knew why. Deep down, he knew why. But it didn’t make him want to believe it. He had to make a break for it. If he could get back to the main room he could call for Grif. They could make it out the front doors and over to the blue base. They would take them in. They had to. They could make the calls, and get command to send in a team to take care of Simmons. It would be ok.

His thought process was the reason that he hadn’t heard Simmons stop moving, or the liquid stop splashing on the ground. Donut jumped around the corner, intent on making a break for the doors, and immediately ran into the cyborg’s chest. Donut let out a shrill noise, trying to wrench his arm away from the mechanical hand now holding his wrist.

“Alright Donut.”

The pink soldier struggled as Simmons dragged him over to the warthog, grabbing the chain from the front bumper, the one that was still connected to Sarge, and using it to quickly yet affectively chain Donut’s hand to the vehicle. He stepped back, admiring his work as he watched Donut squirm and wrench at the chains until he was almost bleeding.

“You’re going to tell me which direction Grif went. That’s all I want to know. You do that, I’ll let you go.”

Donut looked up at the maroon soldier, watching him with terror in his eyes. What were the chances that Simmons was lying? _Simmons doesn’t lie._ His mind told him. _Simmons never lies. He hates lying. It’s why he and Grif were never as close as they could have been._

“He went down towards the locker rooms.”

Simmons nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds about right.”

He turned, walking towards the doors. Donut panicked, pulling on his chains, only too aware of the damp state of his pants from the gasoline drenched over the floor.

“Wait! You said you would let me go! This isn’t like you Simmons! Why are you doing this?”

He watched as Simmons stopped, turning around and reaching into a compartment in his armor.

“This isn’t like me, is it? Well, you know what they say. Sometimes, you just find yourself deeper and deeper. Sometimes, you go in over your head. Time changes a person Donut. Some of us take a long time to change.” The maroon soldier watched with and empty expression as Donut struggled to get his hand away from the chains connecting him to the warthog.

“Some of us, like you, will not take a very long time to change.”

Simmons flicked on the lighter in his hand, bending over and lighting a small piece of cloth, dropping that ground with a small splash. The gasoline lit almost immediately, the only sound reaching Simmons over the roar of the flames were the sobs and wails of the pink soldier in the middle of the room.

Soon the sobs stopped altogether, cries of fear and pleas for mercy morphing into screams of pain. Simmons could hear slapping, as though the pink soldier was trying to put out the flames lapping up his gasoline soaked pants.

“NO! IT HURTS, OH GOD, NO!”

Most of the cries leaving the middle of the room were unintelligible, and Simmons stood in the doorway, surveying the room as Donut’s screams got quieter and quieter, eventually fading as the fire around the warthog died down a little, the fuel from the cloth and skin covered body being eaten up and used.

By the time Simmons decided to put the flames out, turning on the overhead sprinkler system that he had disabled, the warthog was ruined, and the cyborg was surprised that the machine hadn’t exploded.

He surveyed the charred remains of a body lying in a puddle of sludge and ash at the front of the vehicle. Simmons leaned forward, pulling something from the pile and brushing the wet soot off of it. He almost managed a smile as he place the item back onto the remains of his friend and took off out the door.

_Now to find Grif…_


	4. Chapter 4

Grif woke up shivering, despite the warm body lying next to him. Though it had been a week since Simmons had made him clean out the garage to “Teach him some respect, and how to do what he’s told”, he still couldn’t get the image of Sarge out of his dreams, and no matter how many times he washed his hands he swore he could still feel the ashes from Donut’s ‘corpse’ in between his fingers.

Grif moved as carefully as possible, thankful that he was sleeping on the outside of the bunk. He stood, taking his time as he moved silently across the room and out into the hall. He went to the bathroom, relieving himself before heading to the kitchen. Simmons had made him clean that up too, but while it had been disgusting and hard, at least it was easier to clean up Lopez than the others.

Grif stood there, trying to figure out what to eat. He hadn’t realized just how much Simmons sudden change had altered him until he found himself unable to eat. Between the rigorous work Simmons had him doing every day and the sickness he found himself with, it had taken less than a week for Grif to visibly lose almost 10 pounds. Simmons had mentioned it, almost jokingly, but Grif had brushed it off. Who knows: maybe he would die of starvation before Simmons got tired of him.

Grif ran a hand over his face, sighing as he left the kitchen, stopping in the main room. The doors and windows had been barred and blocked, but maybe…

Simmons was still asleep. If Grif could get over to Blue Base, he could radio command, if the Blue’s didn’t shoot him first. He might just be able to pull it off…

He walked over, bracing himself on the wall as he pulled. He might just be strong enough. He yanked harder, desperately trying to get the bolted shutters to open. So desperately that he didn’t realize the noise they were making.

“Grif?”

The orange soldier spun around, staring wide eyed at Simmons, who was standing in the middle of the room, his head cocked slightly and eyes wide like a confused puppy. His pajama bottoms and t-shirt were baggy and hanging off of him and his hair was a mess. All in all, he didn’t look anything like a murderer. Of course, Grif knew better than to trust his old friend’s physical appearance.

“Oh… Hey Simmons. I-I was just checking that, uh, our shutters weren’t loose. Don’t want those pesky blue’s getting in here, right?”

He was honestly surprised that he had managed to get anything out at all, but the blank look on Simmons’ face proved that he didn’t enjoy Grif’s lie.

“You were trying to get out.”

It wasn’t a question, but it still gave Grif shivers.

“I told you already Grif; you aren’t getting out.”

Grif took a step back as Simmons took one forward. That wasn’t a smart idea though, as Grif was now backed up against the wall. He gulped, opening his mouth to try and get something out, but nothing came to mind. Simmons reached out, pressing his hand into Grif’s chest, adding pressure until Grif was gasping for breath, grasping at the metal pinning him to the wall.

“You aren’t leaving Grif.”

The maroon soldier grabbed Grif’s shirt, yanking him away from that wall and throwing him to the floor. He smiled, crouching and placing his hand on Grif’s knee.

“I’m going to keep you for a very long time.”

Grif felt Simmons squeeze, the pain causing a spasm through his body. He grit his teeth, trying and failing to keep the scream in his throat at bay, the sound ripping from his mouth, mixing with the sound of crunching bone. Simmons smiled as he raised his human fist, driving it directly into Grif’s temple.

—-

“…Put a bullet through his head.”

Grif woke up to the sound of soft singing. He tried to sit up, groaning as he tried to sit up. Wooziness overtook him and he lay back down, looking over to see Simmons sitting next to him. His clothes had been changed, so Grif must have been out for a while.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not terrible, all things considered.” Simmons smiled at him. It was small, but it still floored Grif. It was so like his friend…

“That’s good. I’ll get you some painkillers and food.”

Simmons left and Grif took a moment to get his bearings. He was in Simmons’ bunk, propped up slightly on pillows. He was shirtless underneath the blankets, and he couldn’t move his right leg. He lifted the blankets and saw why. The area from about halfway up his thigh to halfway down his calf had a cast on it. Grif remembered the pain from his injury. Simmons had broken his knee.

“It’ll probably be painful for a while.” Grif jumped slightly at Simmons’ voice appearing in the doorway again, a small tray of food and a bottle of pills in his hands. “But it should heal fine.”

He set the tray down, helping Grif sit up before handing it to him. The orange soldier managed to get halfway through the food before he had to stop. His stomach had shrunken even more during his sleep.

“Here. These will make your head feel better.” Simmons handed him two of the little pills and a glass of water. Grif took both of them quickly, only questioning why his head even hurt. He reached up, feeling at the bandages, and remembered suddenly about why he had passed out in the first place.

“Why?”

It was out of his mouth before he thought about it, the ‘painkillers’ already affecting him.

“Why what?”

“Why me? Why not Sarge? You liked him more.”

Simmons practically hissed through his teeth, turning away from Grif with a new fire in his eyes. “I never like that old man. Respected him as a superior, sure. Sought out his approval, of course. But nothing more. He was a terrible leader. I’ve been done with him for a while now.”

His face softened again as he reached out, gently stroking Grif’s hair. “But you. You were never like them. You ignored me, sure, but you still stood there and listened, which is more than I can say for any of them. You were the only one I ever considered anywhere near a friend.”

He pulled his hand back, smiling as Grif’s eyelids fluttered, the medicine kicking in.

“And don’t worry Grif. I’ll take care of you. I’m going to make sure that you’re ok for a very long time.”

Grif just barely heard the other man start up his lullaby again as his eyes drifted close, and he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Grif held the tweezers between his teeth as he worked on the wires holding the main doors closed. He stood, the click audible in his knee with every step he took as he went back to the table, picking up a pair of tools and returning to his work.

            He was going to get out. He had to get out. He was tired of this. It had been a month already, and he was officially tired of being here. Of being Simmons’ plaything. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he was going to get himself out.

            He had locked their bedroom door from the outside and placed a bolt on it, making sure that the maroon soldier couldn’t get out until he was done. He worked on the lock again, twisting and bending the metal, working the locks open bit-by-bit, one at a time. He had been working on it for nearly an hour already, and he was getting close.

            He had his plan all worked out, as he had when he and Donut had originally gone looking for the other soldier. This time, the steps were simple, but thought out.

            Step 1: Lock Simmons in. Check.

            Step 2: Grab the tools necessary. Check.

            Step 3: Get the main doors open. In progress.

            Step 4: Get over to blue base. Simple enough.

            Step 5: Radio for help and get Simmons taken care of. Easy.

            It was a radical plan, but it was something. Something that Grif needed at that point. He ran through the steps in his head again as he worked through the last lock. He was almost free.

            He smiled for the first time in a month as he watched the last lock disconnect. Grif stood, pushing the door open slowly and silently. Step 3: Get the main doors open. Che-

            Wait. That wasn’t right. He had gotten the door open but… there was another one? What? Grif was still standing there staring at it when he heard the whirring noise behind him.

            “Oh Grif. You really thought that it would be that easy. That I would let you go like that.”

            Grif barely had the heart to turn, but he did it anyway. Simmons was standing there in his pajamas, an almost regretful look on his face. He took a step forward, and then another, getting closer until he could run his metal fingers through Grif’s hair, staring at the locks as though he could feel them.

            “You always did underestimate me. I though that maybe having power, having you under my control, at my mercy, would make you see. Make you see that you can’t win, Grif. You could never win. Not with me. Because you never listened. I would always warn you. Always. Every time you did something stupid, I would warn you, but you would do it anyway.”

            He yanked slightly on the hair in his grasp, earning a small hiss from the orange soldier before he dragged his hand down over the other’s face.

            “I really wish you would have listened to me Grif. I liked you. I do like you. I always have. But you never saw it. You never said anything.”

            He traced his fingers down Grif’s neck.

            “You never liked me back.”

            He reached them around, slowly wrapping his thumb and fingers into place and pushing up lightly, pushing Grif into the wall. His words were getting more and more frantic as he spoke.

            “You never heard me.”

            He pushed up hard, lifting Grif off his feet. The orange soldier choked, reaching up to grasp at the metal fingers crushing his windpipe with more and more pressure.

            “I just have one question Grif.”

            Simmons smiled, his eyes wide and manic as he stood on his toes to look the other man in the eye, bringing his lips level, almost so that they brushed Grif’s as he whispered.

            “Can you hear me now?”


End file.
